


While (True)

by solonggaybowser



Category: Saints Row
Genre: Eventual Smut, Light Angst, M/M, canon-typical cussing, it's basically sr4 Now With Shipping!™ and flashbacks to presidency and older games here and there, minimal violence, moderate divergence from sr1/sr2 canon, mostly two boys being goofs though, somewhat meandering explorations of boss's and matt's background, trans boss
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-27
Updated: 2018-02-08
Packaged: 2018-09-27 05:48:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 14,833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9979127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/solonggaybowser/pseuds/solonggaybowser
Summary: It was strictly out of necessity that Win rescued Matt Miller from his virtual prison. The arguably peerless hacker would be invaluable in the fight against the Zin, but his skills came at the price of sharing a tiny spaceship with a smug, insufferable dweeb.Still, teamwork was going to be essential if the Saints wanted to go on living. Again Win reluctantly chose the most tactical decision and, well, at leastattemptedto get along with Matt. This paid off in more ways than one.(Pre-chapter notes will warn for, among other things, explicit sexual content.)





	1. Else If

**Author's Note:**

> this boss diverges significantly from canon boss.  
> updates whenever i feel like

After a vexing twenty minutes of browsing the wares offered by the freshly hacked Planet Zin, Win came to a singular conclusion: "This fucking sucks."

"What's the problem now?" asked Kinzie's disembodied voice.

"You're not seeing this trash?" Win gestured to nothing in particular as he pulled from the rack a leather jacket that purported to be "extra-small" and held it against his five-foot-tall self. Even then, the size mismatch bordered on comical.

"No, I stopped monitoring you while you're clothes shopping, 'cause you complained it was 'creepy' or whatever."

"Oh."

"Yeah, you're welcome."

"Anyway, nothing here fits me. It's bullshit, I tell ya what!"

"Well, yeah. Zinyak's scrubbed out every trace of the Saints from simulated Steelport."

"Yeah, what about that?"

"None of the stores here stocked clothing your size until you subjected them to the necessary degree of browbeating."

"Oh—fuck, you're right. God, this place really _is_ hell."

"Just hurry it up. We have actually important things to do."

"Yeah, yeah."

* * *

Win emerged from the store in a hoodie, approximately Saints purple, and sweatpants. Both, of course, slightly oversized. Not the most presidential look, but fuck if he'd think now's the time to start observing presidential conventions.

Besides, something about witnessing the Earth fucking exploding just makes a man want to feel cozy.

* * *

A mysterious entity contacted Win, claiming they had the ability to open gateways to specific simulations—allowing Win to liberate anyone he knew was trapped on the mothership. And all he had to do in return was hop on some circles like a goofus.

Thank god. Having to take back territory he'd conquered long ago already annoyed him enough; doing it without his crew would be even worse. Soon, though, it would be just like old times: him and Pierce and Shaundi, tearing up the streets of Steelport and gunning down anyone who'd—

"Yeah, 'soon'. About that," interrupted Kinzie, cutting short Win's nostalgia trip. "You do know you're gonna have to go into each of their simulations and physically—well, virtually-physically—extract them from their own worst nightmares, and after that fly the ship to their pod to literally-physically retrieve them, amidst aliens and actual robots. Right?"

"Great. I love _Psychonauts_ ," Win grunted, trying to joke himself back up to a good level of enthusiasm.

* * *

"Yeah, uh... I know what I said earlier, but... boy, you're gonna love this, Kinzie."

"What?"

"We should get Matt first."

"Miller?! Oh my god, why?"

"He's changed a lot since Steelport, you know; he's a good guy now." Win replayed his words in his head and realized his grievous mistake. "Okay, well, maybe 'good' is a strong way to put it. But he's useful, and he probably won't actively antagonize us. What more could we ask for?"

"Useful?"

"We're up to our asses in alien technology, Kinzie. It'd really help to have another person dealing with this shit on board."

"I'm doing just fine without—"

"Look, you know what's at stake, and you know what he's capable of."

"Yeah, I know... but he's so fucking annoying. We're gonna regret this."

"If we can live to regret it, that's all that matters. Set it up."

* * *

"Yes. Asha Odekar and Matt Miller," Win told MI6 a few days after taking office. "We want to talk to them. And I'll tell you now, you want them to talk to us. They know how the Saints roll."

They refused initially, their official statement explaining that Asha's one of their top field agents and they need her and her field coordinator for only the most critical missions, but Win could guess they didn't want to outright express their (not unjustified, honestly) suspicion towards him and his specific request. So they sent over two randos instead, and only after that pair returned home with reports filled entirely with question marks did they reconsider.

But though Special Liaison Odekar and her assistant visited the States with some regularity, Win rarely saw Matt around; they were both just too busy, apparently. So it happened that the last time they spoke more than a cursory greeting to each other was... quite a while ago. Perhaps on the scale of years.

No way that Matt wasn't still a tech genius, but how his personal character could've changed since then, Win had no idea. Maybe Kinzie was right to be loath to save him—too bad that Win relayed his decision to her so confidently, he couldn't possibly back down now.

* * *

"Kinzie, we're ready."

"I'm sending CID the jailbreak."

"Any last advice?"

"When you're inside Matt's virtual oubliette there's a decent chance that I'll be focusing on interfacing with the intrusion countermeasures, so pay attention to the console commands."

"So... read the words in my face. Okay, got it."

"Don't act like you've never fucked that up before."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> things'll pick up once matt gets rescued. less game dialogue, more original nonsense. Stay Tuned Folks


	2. Unauthorized Remake

_Win wasn't really sure what he might see when he sat in that NEMO chair and closed his eyes as it connected his consciousness to the Decker use-net. A command prompt projected behind his eyelids, maybe. Instead he awoke, so to speak, to find himself in a dazzling city of neon lights and circuit boards, floating in a void of dusk. Also there was a toilet for some reason._

_"Oh, shit! It really is just, like, an entire cyber-city!"_

_"What'd you expect from a bunch of nerds with too much time on their hands?" he heard Kinzie respond._

_"You're one to talk, pal."_

_"Yeah, that's how I know."_

_"The toilet is really out of place, though. Did one of the littler Deckers put it there?" Win tried to move whatever his body was in this virtual world; to his horror, the toilet was what jerked forward. "What the shit, that's me!?"_

_"Oops, sorry about that. Let me load up another."_

_"I can't fucking believe you'd do this to me."_

_"I haven't finished your avatar yet. That one's just temporary."_

_"Temporary? So you had a toilet model just lying around??"_

_"Just start moving through the data. I'll sort it out soon."_

* * *

On the other side of the glowing gateway CID opened at the Broken Shillelagh was someplace very familiar.

"Hey, it's the cool city again!"

"Well, it's a completely different map layout, and with Zin motifs instead, but yeah, I'm sure they recycled a lot of the assets."

"So, uh, this mean I get another sweet Cyber Buster or—"

"Wait, did you just call this place 'cool'?!"

"What? It is!"

"Oh my god. I thought I could _respect_ you."

"I said I liked it the first time we were here, didn't I?"

"I thought you were just messing with Matt!"

"That's also what I was doing!"

"Ugh! Just... get moving before I eject your body into deep space!"

* * *

_Win was wondering how he was gonna beat up some nerds without any weapons or limbs when, without warning, his avatar changed into a cheap sex doll—which was probably a net loss._

_"Why do you have_ this _on hand!!"_

_"Quit complaining, you big baby."_

* * *

"So, this is his worst nightmare?" Win asked casually while trying to deal with some tank nonsense. "The virtual cyberpunk playground he and his buddies built?"

"He's actually being held in a structure further ahead."

"Oh. What?"

"But you know, this _is_ where he almost died (in a manner of speaking). I'm not sure he exactly looks back on this place with fondness."

"Oh, I guess that's fair."

* * *

_His avatar morphed once more, this time to a wireframe mesh of a human. "Oh, thank god. Okay, I can work with this."_

_"Good, 'cause Matt sniffed me out."_

_A different voice, this one deeper and put through some kind of filter, echoed menacingly through the city. "This is my world to—"_

_"What—!" exclaimed Win at the intrusion. Once the smug English lilt registered, he said, "Oh, it's just you, Matt. Cool robot voice."_

_A curt pause. Matt continued, "To shape as I see fit, not yours."_

_"Ah yeah? Well, you did a fantastic job."_

* * *

Zinyak started talking, because of course he did. "I must say, I am amused at this attempt to save a man who tried to kill you once," he laughed.

"I've worked with worse."

"All the same, what is it you hope to accomplish? Mr. Miller is beyond your help."

"Dude like him? Yeah, in several ways you're probably right."

"... Was that supposed to be an answer to my question?"

"Don't worry about it."

* * *

_"I'm not going to be beaten by some noob you dragged into my world, Kensington," Matt's robot voice rumbled._

_"Okay, we're back in business," Kinzie said to Win. "Now take out—"_

_Win began to laugh, incredulously. "Hang on, did he say 'noob'? Did he really just call me a noob, without any hint of irony?"_

_"Oh, god, did he? I wasn't even listening."_

_"Oh my god. He's_ such _a teen."_

* * *

"Oh, by the way, thanks, Kinzie."

"For what?"

"For sending me into cyberspace without turning me into a toilet or a frickin' sex doll for once."

"God, are you still mad about that? I said I was sorry."

"I ain't mad!" Win exclaimed, possibly madly. "I said thanks! Hell, I'll do it again: thanks for recognizing rhetorical questions and never telling me why you even had those models!"

"Well, I thought you could guess..."

* * *

_"What's with all the gravestones?" Win wondered out loud. He'd seen them scattered around since he arrived, but as he ventured further in they grew more numerous._

_"Gravestones? Maybe they're..."_

_"Do you really think you're the first to try destroying me?" Matt cut in. "Those are all the people who've come before you..._ and failed _."_

 _He spoke with all the seriousness he sounded like he could muster, which was exactly enough to make Win burst out laughing. "That's—so—_ badass _," he choked out, doubled over and clutching a tombstone for support._

 _Up until now, Matt seemed to more or less tolerate Win's steady stream of flippant remarks. Well, that was over. "You—intolerable wanker! You're_ supposed _to be_ frightened _! Just look at how many pathetic fools I've destroyed before you!!"_

_Matt was trying, so hard. But not a single word he said could scare Win or dampen his spirits. "Yeah, I'm so scared I'm crying real fucking tears."_

_There was an extended metallic crackle that might have been a sigh._

* * *

"This Zinyak boy's getting on my fucking nerves," Win remarked, affecting a confidential air.

Zinyak pointed out, like Win wouldn't know, "I can hear everything you're saying."

"Oh. My bad." He raised his voice and dropped the pretense of secrecy. "Hey, Zinyak, you're getting on my fucking nerves. Y'know, Matt was a way more fun omnipresent antagonistic voice than you."

"Such a shame I'm not another teenage human nerd for you to relentlessly bully."

"For real though, he was. Right, Kinzie?"

"Leave me out of this."

* * *

_"Yo, Miller!"_

_No response._

_"Gotta hand it to you, kid: this place is rad as hell."_

_Still nothing. No way he wasn't listening, though._

_"You got any, fun facts about it you wanna tell me?"_

_"No." Finally._

_"Any inspirations? Did you base it off a, like, game you really liked, or?"_

_"Shut up and get over here so I can kick your arse."_

_"Hah. Yeah, this oughta be good."_

* * *

"Yet again I am impressed by Ms. Kensington," Zinyak declared when Kinzie countered his trap through some clever console wrangling. "Though this attempt is as futile as the life of most humans."

"Oh look, an alien with a superiority complex. Surprising."

"See what I mean?" said Win, hopping onto the motorcycle she spawned.

"Oh, this sentiment comes from more than just the Zin, my dear. 'Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow creeps in this petty pace from day to day to the last syllable of recorded time and all our yesterdays have lighted fools the way to dusty death...'"

Win sighed a heavy sigh as Zinyak swept himself away in his lofty recital of what Win faintly recognized as Shakespeare. If he didn't need both hands on the handlebars to serpentine through this final stretch, some real spicy gestures would've been deployed right about then. So instead, Win preoccupied himself with popping a wheelie as he waited impatiently for Zinyak to finish jacking off via literature.

"Nice performance art piece on being a pretentious dweeb."

"It's a quote from _Macbeth_." Zinyak's words dripped with just as much contempt as Win was feeling.

"Yeah, I know," Win replied, doing a sick jump off a ramp. " _I know._ "

* * *

_The form that Matt assumed for his battle with Win was a sight to behold—again, for entirely different reasons from what Matt was presumably hoping. Narrowly missing Win, he descended as a giant metal dragon, with armor plate, skeletal wings, and a huge fuck-off sword to make absolutely sure the whole thing got its message across, the message being "I'm 16 years old, and I'm the coolest."_

_"Freaking,_ epic _," Win whispered forcefully._

_Matt stomped a neon-lined claw-foot and roared, "You have made a mockery of me and my culture for the last time!"_

_"Jesus, Matt, I was being sincere; I love Digimon."_

_He knew to dodge Matt's sword as soon as he uttered that final word._

* * *

"You're coming up on Matt's prison."

"Uh, how do I break him out without a gun?"

"Chances are it's not a standard 'behind bars' sort of prison. You'll just have to wing it."

Not entirely sarcastically, Win said, "Fine, plans are for chumps."

"Oh, and since I can't see what's going on in there, doubt I'll be able to help you either."

"Even better," sighed Win, this time totally sarcastic. Then something occurred to him. "So, I guess you'd never have been able to check if Matt was actually holding up okay in there."

"What? No, of course not. Why would I even want to do something like that?"

"Um... to ensure rescuing him is actually worth our time and I wouldn't be trying to save a dead man?"

"Then I could just rub it in your face."

Win launched himself off what looked to be the ramp heading into a loading zone, leaving his hands free to toss up, yielding. "All right. I'd be lying if I said I couldn't relate."

* * *

_The hardest thing about the fight was just not getting complacent. Win knew a thing or two about what hubris did to people. As long as he stayed smart, he'd get to see it again right here without having to live it._

_Matt reverted to his human form and fell on his ass, scrambling backwards as if he had any chance of getting away from the arm cannon Win pointed at him. As tempting as it was to make a few choice comments on Matt's outfit, Win supposed it wiser to just deny him the time to think of an actual out. "Bye, Matt."_

_"Wait! I can clear your name, prove you didn't destroy that bridge."_

_"I'm sure Kinzie can figure it out."_

_"I literally have the world at my fingertips."_

_"Yeah?" Looks like he already came up with one. Pretty good. "I'm listening, 'cyber god'."_

_"You tell me the name of a company and it becomes the property of the Saints. You get your empire back and I get to walk away."_

_It couldn't have been a better deal, and not just for the hot discounts at Friendly Fire from then on._

_Because despite all the trouble Matt and his gang stirred up, despite Matt being just a snotty little internet troll, deep down in whatever vestige of sympathy that refused to die no matter what he did, Win was never keen on shooting the kid. It might have felt like a lifetime ago, but he used to be sixteen too, trying desperately to prove himself, to be taken seriously, to be "cool"._

Hell, maybe I still am.

* * *

Win materialized in a small circular room, walls covered in screens of varying sizes, each displaying pivotal scenes and people from his time in the Saints. Ahead of him stood two doorways, one glowing Deckers blue from inside, the other an ominous red.

"Which LACMA exhibit is this?"

Zinyak sighed. "So you do possess some scrap of knowledge of your own species's culture, yet you choose to waste it on mere jokes and insults. How 'fascinating'."

"What, do people learn things for other reasons?"

"No. Of course not." He cleared his throat and adopted a more declarative tone. "This is your life as it led you to this point. All your past violence, crimes, and losses on display to remind you of one simple fact: regardless of what I have done to your world, _you_ were its greatest threat."

"You gotta be fucking kidding me—you blew it up!"

"The evidence is irrefutable. How many have died because you decided driving on the sidewalk is faster than the road, because you used a rocket in place of a bullet, because you wouldn't submit to _my_ rule? In the end, you only hurt those you are trying to protect. In the end, there is only one truth: the human race would be much safer without you in it."

"You fucking blew it up!"

"Don't change the subject. Before you I place a choice. Walk through the blue door and continue to face yet more failures at saving those closest to you. Your race will live on borrowed time and will, through your violent arrogance, wind up extinct. Walk through the red door, however, and I will release the humans whom I have collected. I will give them amnesty and even a ship from my fleet to do with as they see fit. However, in choosing this door, you willingly submit yourself to execution."

"Like I'd believe for a hot minute that you'd keep your word after killing the only witness to this agreement." Win strode towards the blue door.

"Reckless as ever, Saint!" Zinyak called after him. "This is the moment where you can prove to be the savior of humanity, or its absolute destroyer!"

"Go eat a bag of dicks. I've got a nerd to save."

* * *

_"You cap the look on his face when I wrecked his shit? I'll get it printed and framed all nice for you. Would that make you feel better about letting him go?"_

_Kinzie glared at Win for a few silent, tense seconds, before replying, "Mildly."_


	3. Matthew Miller, 16

Matt wasn't having a great week.

His tragic defeat by the Saints, the dissolution of the Deckers, and Killbane squeezing in one last act of physical intimidation before he let Matt go—it was a wonder he had the energy left to both catch his flight and keep his soul anchored to his body. Now all he wanted was to sleep; not like he had much else to do here, anyway.

But it just wasn't happening. The cabin lights were dimmed and he was reclined completely flat in his fancy-pants business class seat, wide awake. He knew he was safe here, far away from any Saints or Luchadores to threaten him or former Deckers to judge him (he had thoroughly combed the passenger list to ensure this), yet he could not shake the feeling of danger, a feeling that intensified every time he closed his eyes.

Giving up on getting any sleep that night, he adjusted his seat upright and pulled out a laptop from his pack.

* * *

Somehow, in the pursuit of a distraction from the recent past, Matt found himself opening the video of his confrontation with Win, which he had recorded with the intent of editing the footage into an epic music video, but all it turned out to be was a monument to his own failure. He couldn't help but watch it, not just once, but over and over, his head resting a little more heavily against his palm each time he replayed it.

How did this happen? He had _huge_ home advantage in the Decker use-net. For fuck's sake, he was a literal _god_. Win should've been nothing compared to him, even backed by Kinzie, who he'd soundly outsmarted before. And yet...

On the screen, Matt reverted to his human self, backing away from Win. A soft breathy noise played in Matt's headphones, a noise that he only now recognized as a snicker. Win was laughing at him to the very end.

Matt slammed shut his laptop and took out a different one.

* * *

"All right then." The officer returned Matt's documents. He really was being let through. "Welcome home."

* * *

A painfully sleepless Matt shambled through the terminal, retaining just about no memory of his flight earlier than the landing. If his grip on physical reality didn't feel tenuous enough, for the first time in a long while he was walking past entire groups of people who naturally talked a lot like he did.

It felt odd, to say the least, to be welcomed back to England when just a few years ago he was a wanted criminal faced with no choice but to flee the country. That worked out though, since he needed to make his way to the Syndicate's base of operations—and then it stopped working out around the time the Saints showed up. Now here he was, forced from the United States out of fear for his life, under the protection of a government that used to want him imprisoned. Their change of heart wasn't out of any particular goodwill though; the deal Matt secured after strenuous negotiations (begging) was that in return he would lend his technological mastery to the service of MI6.

Which was... better than being killed, but only narrowly. He knew a great number of Deckers who would object, who would rather die than sell out to the government, and if they could see their leader now...

Well, they couldn't. The Deckers were no more and Matt led nobody. That was what mattered.

* * *

Through further negotiations (crying), Matt successfully requested the rest of the day off to recover from recent events.

He arrived at his new home and slept till sunset.

* * *

He intended to unpack his stuff, get settled in like a sensible person. What actually happened was he took out one laptop and opened it out of reflex, and it happened to be the one with the fight video open on it.

All the salt he experienced on that flight came rushing back to him, this time free from the haze of exhaustion. _He shouldn't have fucking won!_ he thought, almost relishing the clarity of his anger. _I had every advantage! How was it over so quickly?_

_... Wait a minute. It's not over yet, is it?_ it finally occurred to him. _A computer's a weapon of practically infinite range. Even across an ocean, I could ruin him still! Obliterate his reputation, sow discord amongst the Saints, mark him for death..._ The thought of a most devious revenge woke Matt right up, and he hurried to load up his hacker stuff.

Win's phone, the device one always has on them, seemed a good place to start gathering blackmail material. Just a few minutes of hammering on the keyboard later and Matt had complete access. (Now that he thought about it, he didn't know why he didn't try this much, much earlier.) "I'm in," he whispered to himself, grinning like a nerd.

It turned out Win didn't keep much on his phone—likely at Kinzie's behest, Matt realized. His browsing history was empty; his photos were all of birds, food, and signs with typos; and he texted only his lieutenants and just to ask what they wanted from various fast food places. The most damning thing Matt discovered was regarding Win's taste in video game soundtracks, but mocking Sonic fans was honestly _so_ last decade.

All right, fine. The phone was a dead end, but... actually, was it, though? What if he was doing something scandalous _right now?_

He connected a monitor to his laptop (god, he should've just set up his entire workstation first) and opened up a livestream from Win's phone on the new screen. Both cameras displayed only darkness, so his phone must be put away in his pocket or something. Fair enough. The audio yielded more meaningful results after some messing with the settings: he was in the middle of a conversation with Pierce and Shaundi.

"So you finished the Deckers all by yourself, huh?" Shaundi asked, impressed.

"I mean, I was the only one sitting in the chair, yeah. But honestly, I'd be dead as hell if I didn't have Kinzie backing me up!"

Pierce interjected, "Hey, I was there, too!"

"Oh! Well, fuckin' excuse—! Fine, let the record show I couldn't've done it without the help of my friends Kinzie Kensington and Pierce... the Fierce. Hey, what's your last name again?"

Laughter from the other two. "Nah, you nailed it, Boss."

Frowning, Matt settled back in his chair. They seemed to be having a good time together, like normal people, with normal friends. He always knew the higher-ranked Saints had particularly strong bonds, but, well, no one would've seen the heads of the Syndicate joking around like that. ( _Was that why we fell apart like this?_ ) ( _No, don't be ridiculous. Killbane's a fucking brute, that's all._ )

He muted the stream, and he considered that perhaps he should go prepare dinner first, before he got carried away.

* * *

His food was microwaved a little too hot. He set it down on his desk to let it cool for a minute and turned his attention back to his computer.

The battle footage was still open. It was paused just before Matt's undignified surrender, the scene he'd actually been skipping during all his previous views; the embarrassment had been too much. Now, feeling a little less averse, he clicked play.

There he was, cowering under gunpoint, Win advancing on him, slow steps that dragged out this awful moments. Though Win's avatar didn't have eyes, Matt had felt on himself the gaze of a remorseless killer. Watching this wasn't just embarrassing; it was terrifying. Matt's pulse raced as if he was living it all over again. Jesus Christ, how close he'd been to death.

But his fast talking got him _out_ of trouble for once. And Win let him go, and Killbane let him go.

And here he was now.

* * *

The video was paused, the stream was paused, his meal was finished. Matt sat in silence, realizing maybe revenge wasn't such a great idea after all.

The Saints weren't stupid; of course they'd know, immediately, who would have the means and motive for the kind of cyberattack Matt had in mind for Win, and they would react in kind. Sure, they were focused on the Syndicate currently and they'd have to divide their resources to hunt down Matt, but by now he had a good idea of the kind of people they were: Win wouldn't let this go, and neither would his friends. Government protection be damned, Kinzie would find him and Win would personally get him, and this time there would be nothing Matt could say to save himself.

All right, some of that was probably exaggerated out of fear. Genius that he was, he could surely come up with a bulletproof plan... if he had the time, which he kind of wouldn't, and the resources, which he left behind in the States and would take months if not years to build back up.

God _damn_ it.

Matt stared at the snapshot of his own defeated face one more time before shutting down his computer. _Maybe one day,_ he tried to comfort himself.

* * *

Just before he went back to bed, Matt thought he'd check out the balcony view. It was cool out, though a smidgen warmer than Steelport nights this time of year. London was sprawled out before him, windows and streetlights lit up, and no gunfire to be heard—and no scheming Deckers, nor humming supercomputers, subtly resonant in a repurposed nuclear power plant.

If he smoked, it would've been a perfect time to light up a pensive cigarette. Instead, he just leaned on the railing and let the night breeze ruffle his hair. This was still pretty cinematic, he figured.

Tomorrow he'd be on his way to SIS headquarters, to work on who knows what, with strange older people he had probably antagonized at some point in his life. He sighed, brushing his bangs out of his face when the wind changed directions. Nothing about the immediate future felt good.

_Nothing at all? Come on, Matt._ He breathed in, slowly. _It's a fresh start in life._ But he was happy with his life before all this.

_There'll be lots of opportunities at MI6._ Slow, tedious advancement up the ranks of a government agency—truly the cyberpunk's dream.

_I've always wanted to see London._

Yeah. At least there's that.


	4. Matthew Miller, 17 (Pt. 1)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading so far y'all
> 
> this chapter contains an oblique reference to canon major character deaths

And just when things had finally turned around for him.

All right, that was an overstatement—but not by that much. After all, MI6 was easing up on probation after Matt's exemplary behavior proved his life of crime was over; his fellow agents at last granted him a modicum of respect; and he seemed to get along with the field agent he'd just been assigned to: Asha Odekar, polite but subtly unnerving, likely because she'd been assassinating public figures or whatever for longer than he'd been alive.

(So what if all this good fortune only came from pretending to be someone he was not? It was working.)

But now, this: a counter-terrorist operation, allied with none other than the Third Street Saints. 

"Asha, they can't be serious," he hissed to her after the briefing.

Asha didn't seem to share a fraction of his disbelief. "Hm. Which part can't you take seriously?" she asked, casually and at a normal volume.

"What—we have to work with the Saints!"

"Yes, at first glance they appear to be a common street gang. But... well, I'm guessing you've not looked at their profile yet. They've got quite the list of, accomplishments."

"I know, I've met them before!"

"Oh? When would you... Is _that_ who you had to deal with in Steelport?"

"Yes!"

"I see. That _is_ an unfortunate coincidence." she said, concerned, but not very much so and not for long. "Still, in this line of work, you'll inevitably need to work with people you don't get along with."

He weakly protested, "It's a little worse than just 'not getting along'."

"Yes, sorry. But even then, you'll be at a safe distance from them. They can't do anything to you—not that they'd be wise to even try."

"I suppose not," Matt grumbled, disappointed he couldn't get Asha on his side. Which would not have improved his situation, he knew, but he would at least have felt a bit better.

"It's perfectly normal to be uncomfortable, Matt. Even afraid." So maybe she did give a damn about his feelings. "Why, when I first came here, I was in a near-constant state of terror!"

"Were you?"

"Oh, yes. But I overcame my fear by focusing on my duty above all else. The people of Britain are counting on us to protect them, Matt, and we wouldn't have been chosen for this honor if we weren't up to the task."

That wasn't why _he_ was chosen, but he thought better of mentioning it.

* * *

Besides that, she was right, Matt thought on his way to his base of operations. The Saints couldn't hurt him. They _wouldn't_ hurt him, if they knew what was good for them. And past evidence demonstrated that they did.

In general.

No, no—in this case they certainly would, as long as Matt stayed out of their way.

* * *

"Base, are you there?" Asha radioed him. "What are we walking into?"

Well, he had to make his presence known sooner or later... "The intelligence I'm looking at suggests—"

"Hold on... Hide, truck on its way."

Maybe they wouldn't even think that hard about who just spoke. A young-sounding Englishman? Why, it could be anybody. Matt fit that description, sure, but that hardly guaranteed—

Actually, Kinzie recognized him near-instantly. "Wait a minute. Your handler is—... was that Matt Miller?!" Of course she would've, who was Matt kidding.

"Kinzie, be nice," Shaundi warned, though it was obvious she shared Kinzie's distaste. "But seriously, what the hell?"

As if she'd rehearsed her response, Asha said, "Matt Miller is a brilliant hacker, a venerated agent of MI6, and a key member of our operation."

Matt smirked. He really was finally getting the respect he deserved around here.

Seeming as pleased as Shaundi was to encounter Matt again, Pierce asked, "And the fact that he tried to kill us?"

"What's past is past. We are all working together now. Let's focus on the job."

 _Yes. Let's do that._ "As I was saying—"

"Hold that thought, Matt. Guards ahead."

* * *

Something didn't feel right, and it wasn't just the tension inherent to a mission to prevent major cities from being nuked.

Subconsciously, Matt had braced himself for Win to pick up where he'd left off in his stream of taunts slash ironic compliments, but he had yet to even sarcastically call something "epic". In fact, he hadn't uttered a single word this whole time.

That was weird, wasn't it? Win said things, a lot of things. Was he that serious right now? Did he change so much in a year?

At this point in time, Matt liked to think Win's casual bullying would have passed right through him. This silence bothered him much more.

* * *

What hadn't changed at all was the Saints' killer instinct. The terrorists put up a fight, but not nearly enough to stand up to the Saints and live.

Now Cyrus Temple was a good deal more threatening, being a veteran soldier and, more pertinently, consumed by a desire for revenge. And also, oh yes, significantly larger than Win, as many people were. It hardly bothered Win, Matt had to remember, but him grappling with Cyrus was quite alarming to watch all the same—but not as much as when he got stabbed, shook it off, and then tossed his opponent into an open vat filled with corrosive chemicals.

There was movement in the vat. A hand emerged, holding something, then sank back down for good.

"Dammit! He launched a nuke!" _Oh, shit, what?_ "That missile is targeting... Washington!"

Bloody hell. At the very last second, they failed their mission, and now millions were about to pay the price—

Win just jumped onto the missile.

"What are you doing?!" Matt couldn't stop himself from shouting.

"Don't you get it? The boss is sacrificing himself to save us all! This is our final chance to say goodbye."

_What the fuck?_

Matt was only faintly paying attention when Shaundi spoke. "I remember when we first met. I was just a fun-loving girl in dreadlocks but you... you saw me as more than that."

_What the fuck is happening?_

Kinzie went next. "We snap at each other sometimes, and I don't always understand your methods, but there's no one I'd rather follow into battle."

_Why is he still not saying anything?!_

Then Pierce. "You said, 'Hey, Pierce, how would you like to be the face of the Saints?' And I was all... I... I... _Oh man I'm gonna miss you!_ "

Was it his turn now? What would he even say?

 _... What else is there but the truth?_ "If I knew you'd be so willing to give up your life to save the world, I... I suppose I wouldn't have tried to kill you."

There. That sounded suitably meaningful, for the relationship they had.

Asha was last. "Well, we just met, but, um, you seemed, you know, nice."

And what a time for this to happen, too. Right after Matt finally and fully let go of his grand designs of retribution for what happened in Steelport, Win was going to give up his life, here and now, just like that.

Wait, he really was about to _die_ , wasn't he? After all the shit he pulled himself out of by way of sheer tenacity, was this finally how it would end? It just felt surreal. He couldn't die; that doesn't happen to a Saint. Except the ones trapped on an airplane, or chained to a truck, or...

Kinzie reported, "The warhead's disabled but it's still moving, Boss." See! He had a plan, and he would make it. Right? He was so close to making it.

"Boss! You're right over the Oval Office!"

Radio silence for the longest several seconds of Matt's life. (Well, next to the time Win almost shot him, but he didn't want to think about that right now.)

At last: "He made it."

Matt exhaled, and so did everyone else.

"Thank fucking God."

"Knew he could do it!"

"Heh. Well done."

Matt sighed again, trying to clear the stress from his body. The universe was as it should be.

_In the Oval Office, though? Ha! He'd better not get used to it._


	5. Matthew Miller, 17 (Pt. 2)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter contains an instance of underage drinking

"Are you unhappy about being sent out again so soon?"

Matt's grimace deepened. "Is it that obvious?" To his relief, Asha just chuckled, perhaps sympathetically. So he ventured to continue, "I just don't see why I need to attend too." A transatlantic flight wasn't the most thrilling activity to begin with, but when the thing waiting for him at the end of it was some stupid party, hosted by a bunch of maniacs he hardly knew, well, staying home on a Saturday night never sounded better.

"We were both invited; it would look the most natural for both of us to be present," she stated. Then she frowned and muttered, "Although to send someone so young to—"

"Actually, what's the point of this mission at all? They know who we are; they'll be prepared. Plus, they'll surely make an official statement on the matter in the coming days..."

"The consequences would be _huge_ , Matt, even if he wasn't elected. You know how the Saints are. We need all the information we can get, as soon as we can have it."

* * *

What a bother.

He had been so thrilled to finish the Cyrus mission and then go right back to never sparing another thought on the Saints. And if it weren't for these damnable rumors of Win planning a bid for presidency (which, by the way, what the fuck?), maybe Matt could've left Steelport in the past forever.

But only a year later and he was on a flight back. Not permanently, of course, but that didn't make him feel any happier about it.

He reclined his seat and fell into a tentative sleep.

* * *

"How're you holding up?"

"This is so stupid."

"Ah, come on." Asha elbowed him gently, which did nothing to unravel Matt's tightly folded arms. "Better than being cooped up at base for six hours, isn't it?"

"Must I answer honestly?"

"Heh. Well, what about the refreshments? They seemed like they'd be to your liking."

"The, what?"

"Oh, you didn't—... You haven't been loitering near the entrance this whole time, have you?"

He had, but he preferred not to be honest about that either. There were just far too many people drinking and dancing and overall indulging in senseless vice for his liking, and the greater his distance he could keep from any part of that tacky, cacophonous mass, the better.

"Go get something to eat. It'll help you focus."

"Focus on what?"

"The objective, of course."

As far as Matt was concerned, his objective was not losing his fucking mind before the night was over. Even then, she was right.

But not more than thirty seconds at the cheese table (the selection of which was surprisingly diverse for an event like this) had passed when a faintly familiar voice spoke out next to and slightly below him: "Try to drink anything you're not supposed to and we'll pour it down your pants." Standing right there, cutting a baguette, not even looking at Matt, was the boss himself.

In the space of about five seconds—none of which involved Win speaking any further, looking at Matt, or doing anything else to acknowledge his presence—Matt froze up with sheer terror and then mostly thawed when he realized his old nemesis had no readable intent to finish what he'd started a year ago.

Instead of hastily fabricating an excuse to leave, though, all Matt could do was say, and not very cleverly, "So you do still talk."

The bread knife was paused mid-slice as Win tried to puzzle out the relevance of that statement, Matt feeling exponentially more awkward with each passing second. "Oh!" Win said at last, and resumed the cutting. "Yeah, the mic was busted."

"That's... it?"

"Yep. But hey, it didn't matter." Having gathered enough bread on his plate, Win finally made eye contact, his expression neutral. He didn't look much different from what Matt remembered. Well, of course he didn't; it had only been a year. Most notably he had been maintaining the same stylishly impractical haircut that obscured his right eye—maybe it was still dyed purple, too; it was hard to tell in this stupid lighting. He continued, "Now I'll be honest, I didn't think you two would actually show up."

"'You two'?"

"Yeah, you and Asha. Hey, this ain't a mission, is it?" he asked suddenly. Shit, did he know? Well—he must, right? It wasn't so unreasonable to deduce. So _now_ he was going to get his revenge. "Did they send you here to investigate what our parties're like? You can go home and tell 'em we got some fine-ass cheese." Then again, if he knew he had foreign spies actively gathering intelligence in his presence, he sounded awfully casual about it.

"I'm not a field agent. That wouldn't be my job," replied Matt, dodging the question without outright lying. Win was silent, and as the party lights played across his face Matt could just barely tell he was pursing his lips and giving him a very particular look, surely in contemplation of how best to call out Matt on his deceit.

"Why even _have_ a job with MI6? That's not very cyberpunk of you at all."

Now Matt had to say nothing, half because the conversation took such an unexpected turn and half because it was a bit of a sore subject for him, even after a year.

He managed to gather himself in a few seconds, long they may have felt, and deliver what was more or less his usual response to this sort of question. "I see why you would say that; it _is_ ill-suited to the Matt you knew before. But he remains firmly in the past. I've learned my lessons on crime and gang life, and now I am thoroughly reformed and proud to serve my country." Perfection: the Queen herself wouldn't suspect a thing.

But Win wasn't the Queen, he was the boss of the Saints. Now he was outright frowning, and staring at Matt with—disgust? Pity?—until suddenly he said, "You know what?" Matt watched him with increasing curiosity as he went over to another table and returned with an unopened beer can. "I changed my mind. You can have _one_ beer."

Perhaps he should learn how to read Win better than he had been, Matt finally realized. It might serve him well in the months ahead. "Um. Thanks."

"Yeah, don't mention it."

* * *

Win left as soon as he finished taking what he liked. He spoke to a guard in front of an empty hallway, who let him through; Matt wondered idly if Win himself could stand these parties.

It also occurred to him that he came all the way out to the States _for an actual reason_ and he just passed up a golden opportunity to contribute to the mission. The boss himself, of dubious sobriety, would surely have had something interesting to say about how he may or may not be running for president... Matt started to feel more than a little foolish.

But then again, in casual conversation Win managed to outmaneuver him without even trying. Was there really any chance of getting anything worth knowing out of him? Matt should feel lucky his encounter went as well as it did. Hell, out of all the Saints, it was Win who ended up being the most reasonable about Matt's assistance during the operation.

Now if only he minded his own business about Matt's career choices.

* * *

His first day back at HQ, Matt kept tugging at his collar. For some reason his stupid tie felt tighter than usual, no matter how he adjusted it.

Prior to the weekend he had, on impulse, put in a request to leave London and visit home for a time, and only noticed today that they rejected it almost instantly. He'd expected as much; he still felt disappointed.

He looked at his task list and at his hazy reflection in the monitor. There had to be a way out of all this.

He evaded the police when they nearly had him cornered and made it to the States; he stared down the barrel of a Saints gun and lived. There was always a way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hmmmm dunno how i feel about this one, but by now i'd rather cut my losses and just move on with the story
> 
> the next chapter will be the last one from matt's POV for a while. maybe. planning is for chumps


	6. The Modern Matt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading my silly meandering story. your kudos and nice comments have given me power

Matt woke up at the start of another day at work. He wiped the sweat from his forehead and lingered in bed a minute to let his racing heart calm down—the sole remnants of a bad dream, he supposed.

His morning routine went by as it always did, with the minor exception that he had a song stuck in his head, a short chiptune loop. Actually, it wasn't that minor; it was pretty annoying, in fact. He was never fond of chiptune music, and he had no idea where he would have heard it or why it would have imprinted so strongly on him. But, anyway.

Once he was ready, he went to his door and stepped out.

* * *

It sounded strange, but it almost seemed like the SIS Building looked even blockier than usual that day.

* * *

"Got more for you, Miller." Matt's superior handed him a file. "We've received intel of a small but dangerous gang in Sweden, specializing in cyber-terrorism. Apparently, they plan on attacking our government in the near future, so you'd best shut them down."

"Why? What do they want with us?" Matt had to ask, despite knowing that was probably answered in the file.

"Most of their members are bored upper-middle-class youths whose idea of fun is arbitrarily disrupting normal, innocent people's lives on as wide a scale as possible. If you think that sounds stupid, no one would blame you."

_What the hell is your problem?_

Did they even know? They shouldn't—the details of Matt's "previous employment" were kept hidden on a strict need-to-know basis. Yet it was hard to believe he wasn't being purposefully insulted.

"Oh, by the way," they continued, certainly seeming unaware, "our budget's been slashed to pieces. You'll have to work with some, ah, older equipment than you're used to."

"They... cut funding... for MI6?"

"Yes. So we'll just have to work twice as hard, won't we?" They waved dismissively at Matt and looked back at their paperwork. "You especially have much to do. Hope your little holiday was worth it."

_What? What holiday?_

But their meeting was clearly over; Matt had no choice but to take his remaining questions and leave.

* * *

At his desk, his mind drifted. Partly because he still wanted answers, partly because that was his natural reaction to waiting for this ancient computer from his primary school days to boot up.

He tried to remember the events of the past week or so, a more challenging task than expected. Yes, he did dimly recall a job-unrelated flight... to where, though? And why did he feel so anxious?

The monitor had been stuck on the Windows 95 logo for some time now. Matt began to wonder if the computer had froze, already. He never held old tech in high regard, but even he didn't expect this big of a headache. Well, he would give it a couple more minutes. Put off actually using the computer for a little longer.

He considered the papers and folders on his desk, messily amassed to provide space for the "new" equipment. Usually he kept his work space fairly organized... Were those really left lying around before he took off for his holiday? He leafed through them, looking for something that might fill in what he couldn't remember—

His eyes widened when he found exactly that. A printout of an emblem, a red circle enclosing a red shield... the symbol of the Zin Empire.

He held his head in his hands as the memories came flooding back.

* * *

Hours upon hours of checking and re-checking data, disbelief giving way to terror—

Bringing his findings, unpolished but undeniable, to his superiors, only to be disgraced—

The second time he fled England, uncertain if he would ever return, leaving everything behind and running for his life—

Explosions that rocked the White House as a beam of light poured in through the ceiling and pulled him into the sky—

* * *

—and the chagrin of falling short by mere seconds of reaching the only person who stood a chance.

* * *

Matt sat up straight and tried to collect himself. Given all of that... why was he back here?

And _holy shit_ , what was wrong with— _everything_? His vision suddenly rendered the whole world in revolting pixel graphics—oh, god, no, it was always like that, wasn't it, from the moment he woke up? He just couldn't see it until now, the restricted color palettes, the abstracted shapes—Christ, there were even scan lines.

What the fuck was happening?

A sudden cold sensation in Matt's hand wrenched him fully back into reality, if one could even call it that. He looked down and saw the doorknob in his hand; apparently during his harrowing revelation, he had subconsciously moved towards the door to the stairs. Excellent. He didn't know how much escaping would actually help, since the pixels were absolutely not confined to that building, but fuck it. He threw the door open and ran.

This did not take him where he hoped or expected.

* * *

In fact, no door did from then on. All these strange, new places Matt found himself in—currently two full teams of American football players were chasing him across a stadium—he didn't stay in very long. It seemed something changed when he realized what was going on.

Maybe? What _was_ going on?

_First of all, this must be some sort of fake reality, in which the Zin hold me prisoner._ He successfully evaded the sportsmen only to stumble into a full classroom, everyone inside staring at this sudden intrusion. Then his trousers fell down of their own accord, which honestly was the least of his problems. _So how do I leave?_

Disregarding the jeering students, his hands went to his face, attempting to remove a VR headset that wasn't there. _What_ is _this then? An elaborate hallucination? A_ Matrix _-esque simulation?_ He knew the Zin were technologically advanced, yes, but enough to do something like this?

* * *

_And for what purpose?_

Sheep surrounded him in a verdant pasture. They stared blankly but insistently at Matt, and the scan lines stood out very well against the clear blue skies. Nothing about this place wasn't offensive to his modern, nerdy sensibilities—as was the case with everywhere else he'd been to in this simulation. _That can't be a coincidence. But... why?_

The field stretched out, perfectly level, as far as he could see. It wasn't hard to spot what seemed to be a small window, suspended in the air, only blackness visible on the other side.

He approached it cautiously, trying not to worry about the sheep turning to keep their gaze fixed on him. The glass was thick, he figured after tapping it with his fist. On the other side a spotlight shone down upon it, he could tell, but it didn't illuminate anything of significance. Wait, there was something just below the pane... an old keyboard?

God. He was trapped in hell, and they were rubbing it in his face.

Matt always knew the Zin didn't come in peace, but were they outright sadistic? The gravity of the situation dawned on him: he is so fucked.

* * *

On the sands of a small tropical island, Matt withered under the harsh sunshine. If he had any remaining doubt about this being a virtual torture chamber, it dried up along with him.

Sweat poured down his face and rendered his upper body a disgusting swamp under his leather jacket. He struggled to reach the shade of a lone palm tree; there, to his profound disappointment, he felt not an iota of respite—he even tried to lean on the tree for support and found his hand passing right through it.

(In the midst of all his hyperthermal misery, the thought that rang loudest in his muddled head was, _I can't believe people_ want _to spend their holidays in places like this._ )

The patches of his chalk white skin not under clothing were roasting, but at the moment he could tolerate even less the moisture trapped under his jacket, so he started to remove it. He almost had an arm free when he heard a voice, feminine and seductive, behind him: "Yeah, baby, take it off..."

He twisted around, his burnt neck in agony, to see who else could possibly be on this damnable island with him. Standing there was, by all accounts, a dominatrix. She had as much skin covered as Matt had exposed.

Matt liked to think, in retrospect, that even under extreme physiological stress he kept his wits about him and recognized the danger at hand. It was half the truth: the other half was that the pixelation repulsed him on a visceral level. He ran.

Adrenaline was enough to put some distance between them, if she wasn't chasing (he certainly wasn't about to check). But, weakened terribly by the sun, his legs soon buckled and he collapsed onto the sand, his consciousness fading upon impact.

* * *

Apparently passing out was sufficient to load a new area. When he came to, he was no longer on that beach but instead in a cool darkness, on a hard floor. A most welcome change, though he worried about what the darkness might conceal.

The lights flashed on. When Matt could bear to open his eyes, he saw before him a wrestling ring. This did not bode well, and it only got worse when he heard a voice from his nightmares: "The Saints think they can defeat me again? No. This time Matty has to do his own fighting."

_The Saints? Are they here too?_ Matt dared to stand up and peek into the ring. Killbane was standing inside, talking to someone Matt couldn't see. "Then where's Matt?" But he recognized their voice, too—no matter where you lived, it was nearly impossible to escape the voice of President Win.

This was... encouraging, actually. Win also had once posed a grave danger to Matt, but once he realized the boss of the Saints was kind of an okay guy when you weren't actively opposing him, he gradually stopped appearing in Matt's nightmares. And from the sound of it, he was here to help Matt.

Climbing into the ring, Matt called out, "Over here," trying to sound like someone Win could reasonably place his faith in.

Win nodded at him. "Cool. Let's do this."

"Do you really think a wimp like Matty here can defeat me?" Killbane laughed, facing his opponent.

Matt got a good look at Killbane and then wished he hadn't. In the years since Steelport, he had convinced himself that he was misremembering Killbane's sheer size and muscle mass, that no human could possibly have been so large. Well, at least one could, apparently.

"I don't think I can do this," he told Win, trembling a little.

"You gotta, Matt. This is your fight," Win replied, a hint of impatience in his tone. But he sounded like he meant it when he said, "You can do it."

Well... perhaps it was worth a try. After all, this was a simulation—a video game, basically. Anything was possible, especially when the President believed in you. "All right then. What should I do?"

Win held up his hands as if it was obvious, which... it was. "Punch him, dude."

_Here I go..._ He steeled his nerves and went for it. His fist connected with Killbane's jaw; surprisingly, the impact against bone and flesh and pure rage didn't telescope his arm, and it was Killbane who staggered back in a daze. "Ow! What the hell was that!"

"I can't believe that worked," Matt couldn't help but marvel.

"Do it again!"

"What?"

"You got the drop on him; don't back down now!"

So Matt punched him again, just as successfully. "This is impossible!" shouted Killbane, frustrated and maybe even afraid.

He knew what to do now. One final swing and Killbane was down, thoroughly defeated.

Matt beamed and raised his fists in triumph. "I did it! I won!"

He turned to Win, who seemed satisfied and simply said, "Told you so."

"I knew you'd get me through this." High on his victory, he flashed a cheeky grin at the president. "We make a great team, don't we?"

Win was slightly less pleased at that statement, but he just closed his eyes and sighed, "I guess. I guess that's a good thing." He looked back at Matt. "All right, it's time to go."

Matt started at a sudden, strange ringing sound; a bedside table with a rotary dial telephone had materialized in front of him. Of course that would be his ticket out of this antique of a game. "Get ready to see some shit," Win warned him as he picked up the phone. A blinding white light filled the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 8/15 note: due to life nonsense i almost certainly can't update this fic before the end of the month, but i do want you to know it's being worked on, however slowly


	7. Dress Codes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter contains nudity mentions (but no details)

"You're really making a big deal out of nothing! This is a great opportunity for him to build character!" Kinzie exhorted Win one more time.

For a length of time, she had distracted the crew (which is to say, allowed them to distract themselves) from finding Matt and bringing him to safety aboard the ship. Win had always understood her less-than-gracious opinions on Matt, but once he and his vice president Keith caught onto her long con, Win's patience went out the airlock. "Kinzie, this is not the time for a teachable moment. If we don't help Matt, _he will die_."

She looked at him, unhappy—but relenting. "Fine. Take this."

She pressed a button. The huge doors of what Win had thought was a stack of inert metal crates opened to reveal a real-ass mech suit, a gleaming terror of a machine bearing guns longer than he was tall.

Win stared silently as he folded his arms. Affecting hesitance, he leaned towards Kinzie and said, "Is that good?"

"Oh, shut up and get in."

* * *

Although Win knew a thing or two about hand-to-hand combat, it wasn't his preferred method of eliminating his foes. Sure, if a golden opportunity to deliver a neck snap or a good ol' dick kick presented itself, he'd take it (well, who wouldn't!), but his world was primarily a world of guns, and fists did not stop bullets.

Adding a mech suit to the equation changed everything.

"Eat shit!" Win fired up the jets and rushed his gigantic fuck-off robot into a cluster of Zin. The close-up sight of bodies flying in every direction was immensely satisfying. One Zin nearby survived the impact and struggled to stand up; once on their feet, they were swiftly and effortlessly whomped by a cannon. "Tiny babies. I am the one who is large now," Win said with relish.

Kinzie radioed in, "You know your voice is always transmitting, right?"

"Whatever. You've overheard worse."

"Yeah."

Win continued on his way deeper into the ship, towards a section of pod storage Kinzie had indicated as Matt's general location. "So, how do I actually shoot these guns?"

"Oh, um, I didn't have time to get them working, so—"

"You gave me guns that don't work? What kinda show you runnin' here!"

"I found you power armor! The guns are just missing... stuff."

"'Power armor'? What," he scoffed. "It's a robot, Kinzie. Please."

"... Are you really starting this?"

"I just wanna make myself perfectly clear, all right? If it looks like a robot and it walks like a robot—"

"But it _doesn't_ walk like a robot; you're controlling it."

"Um, excuse me, it has robot legs, on which the robot walks." He assumed the air of someone explaining a blindingly obvious truth. "I understand you're not a distinguished robotologist, like me—"

"Oh my god."

"—but _try_ to keep up."

Kinzie sighed, as always uninterested in keeping up with Win's nonsense. "Why did I vote for you?"

"'Cause I get shit done. You know I just found a broken pod?" Orange gunk had spilled underneath it. There was no one in sight, but footprints, human ones, led away from the mess.

"Really? The one Matt was in?"

"It doesn't say. However, that uh, door control panel over there's projecting a laughing Decker skull. That tells me everything I need to know."

* * *

The footprints were fading. Matt better be behind _this_ hacked door or this was gonna be a much bigger problem.

A solid robot slam brought down the door. And thank god, a familiar voice hollered in the room, "Get away from me—I mean it!"

"Matt, it's me. I'm busting you out," Win called out calmly. He lowered the gun arms and maneuvered into the room as subtly and nonthreateningly as he could manage.

Matt peeked out from behind a shelf at the large robot and the United States president piloting it. Just like magic, his panic transformed into impudence. "About time I was rescued!" he whined, and scrambled out of his hiding place. "Oh! You wouldn't believe what they have—"

_Oh, fuck! He's naked!_ Panicked, Win shoved himself as far back into his seat as he could and tried to look everywhere but in front of him. It was futile: his brain had already registered the full image. _God, it_ had _to be Matt, didn't it!_

"—but I didn't realize they had robots! What? What's that look for?" Armored as the mech suit was, it still couldn't contain Win's consternation.

Win inhaled deeply to collect himself and passed off the exhale as an exasperated sigh. "Couldn't you have found some pants, dude?"

But Win's judgment did nothing to ruffle Matt. "Proper attire wasn't foremost in my mind after waking up alone in an alien military base."

"Ugh." Matt was being reasonable, of course, but goddamn if it didn't bother Win. More than it should have... Fine, he'd just have to deal with it. "Get moving, Miller, and keep yer ass outta trouble. Kinzie's coming to get us."

* * *

"What kind of firepower does that mech have?"

Automatically Win turned to make conversational eye contact but turned back once remembering one of them was in a robot and the other was nude. "Kinzie said the guns are missing... 'stuff'."

"Ha! Typical. Give me a moment to find the parts."

Win was floored; again he tried to look at Matt. "What the... You already know what you need?"

"I'll figure it out. Cover me in the meantime."

* * *

_Big ol' nerd like him... Why did I ever think he would've changed?_

_Oh, right, because he joined MI6, and stayed there... for years._

But as far as Win knew—and probably would ever know—Matt was fundamentally the same person he had fought six years ago. _And that's just fine,_ Win forced himself to think, while frowning. _No reason to believe he'll cause any big problems for us._

_A bunch of little problems, on the other hand—_

"I have the parts! Get to me and I'll set you up."

It really did work.

More and more Zin soldiers joined the fight, but even the murderbots were rapidly disintegrated by the maelstrom of bullets and rockets Win unleashed upon them. God, did it feel good.

But power always comes at a price: in the middle of all this havoc, most of it caused by Win himself, he needed to keep an even closer eye on Matt.

It was _necessary_ , he told himself, and he knew it was true: if Matt was in danger, so was the entire mission. But he didn't like it—even though Matt didn't seem to care either way about his nudity, looking still felt... rude.

But it was necessary.

* * *

The rest of the escape went smoothly up until the end: there was a lot of hollering from many parties and the guns tragically jammed while waves of Zin advanced upon them and the situation suddenly looked very grim. But Kinzie pulled through just in time, and Matt and Win made it aboard.

Once the ship was in the clear, it was time to properly integrate Matt into the crew. Resolutely keeping his eyes above Matt's shoulders, Win instructed him to take a shower first of all, then use the 3D printer in the laundry room to make something appropriate to wear. "And we'll meet in the dining room in forty-five minutes. No getting sidetracked by tech, got it?"

So Matt was sent away and Win finally had some time to himself. No more talking to nude, slimy nerds. He sat in an armchair and rested his face against his hand; his cheek was warm, he noted.

The interesting thing was, during his time in the Saints he was witness to more than a few random nudity incidents, and none of them were really a big deal to him. They decreased in frequency when he became president, so he supposed he lost his tolerance. What a strange concept though.

_Ah, forget it._ He went to get a snack.

* * *

They met as planned. Matt walked in, appearing displeased and wasting no time in explaining what displeased him. "What a disappointment that printer was," he griped as he fiddled with his jumpsuit.

"What's wrong with the printer?" asked Win, genuinely confused.

"First of all, it doesn't print trousers. And second of all, nothing it makes looks good!"

Win stopped him there, before he could sweep himself away in an impassioned rant. "I mean, you're not wrong, but—okay, the pants thing is definitely weird—but these jumpsuits are perfectly serviceable. It's not like we're running a fashion show here."

"That printer's such an advanced instrument, it's a _terrible_ waste of potential to limit it like that. I'm sure if I looked at—"

"It'll have to wait. Right now you got more important—" Now Win was the one getting carried away. In the midst of all this excitement—not just Matt's rescue but everything that had happened since the Zin attacked—he had forgotten to ask a crucial question: did Matt actually _want_ to join this fight?

"More what?"

"All right, Miller, look: believe it or not, I'm against pressing people into the service of the Saints. But we're out here in this cramped-ass ship fighting for humanity, so if anyone aboard's not helping us do that... then, we gotta—"

"Wait, wait, hold on a minute. Are you actually concerned that I won't work with you?"

"Well... you're not exactly my usual crew."

"I flew out to the States because I believed you were the only one who could do something about the Zin invasion."

"Oh," was all Win could say. His big question had long been answered.

Matt broke the silence first, smirking. "But the tables have turned, now. Lost in hostile territory, overwhelmed by Zin technology, you correctly deduced that only I, a cybergod, can save you now."

_Jesus, you're still calling yourself that?_ "That's putting it real strongly."

"But it's true, isn't it? You could've recruited any one of billions of people back on Earth, and you went out of your way to get me."

"Yeah. Well. About that..."

Sooner or later, Matt had to know the truth about Earth. But which was better? It was kind of a huge thing to omit now. On the other hand, Win didn't have a great read on Matt—if the truth broke him, what then? 

A gut feeling told Win it wouldn't. Besides, what a pain in the ass it would be to cover up the destruction of a planet. "The Zin blew up the Earth."

"What, already? ... How long have I been out?" He seemed to be taking it well.

That was a hard question, though. Win had lost much recently, one of the more abstract losses being a sense of time. "Shit, I dunno... several days, at least."

"They devastated the face of the Earth in less than a week? My estimate of their forces was quite incorrect then..."

As soon as Win caught onto Matt's misunderstanding, he rushed to say, "Uh, Matt, uh, they blew up the _entire_ Earth. It's just, gone."

"What?" Matt said in knee-jerk disbelief. He searched Win's expression for some sign of jest.

"We all saw it, me and Keith and Kinzie."

Matt looked away, blinking, then scowling. "I had no idea they were capable of—" He cut off, seeming frustrated more than anything else. "I knew more about them than anyone else before they attacked, and I—" He paused again. "So nothing I could've done, would have made a difference anyway."

"What, no, that's not true," Win couldn't help saying. There was only one person on the ship who had any business regretting what they did or didn't do with regard to the fate of the Earth. But that... that was too much to explain now. "I mean, you don't know that for sure. And also it doesn't matter anymore: you're here now, with us. And together we'll make that Zinyak motherfucker regret he ever even thought about fucking with humanity, ain't that right?"

For a moment Matt was quiet. He seemed to consider Win's words, his frustration disappearing. Then, without a hint of malice or scorn, he said, "You haven't changed a bit, eh?"

_Guess that makes two of us._ "Saints for life, Miller. Saints for life."

"So. What's the plan?"

"Right now we need all the help we can get, and with the Earth gone, the only way we can get it is to rescue the folks we know got abducted. There's Pierce, Shaundi, Ben..."

"Asha."

"And Asha, right. And before we can pick them up, we need to find where their hell-sims are in cyberspace or whatever. So go talk to Kinzie; she'll know better than I do what you should work on right now."

"All right."

"If she gives you too much shit, come talk to me. But you better not bother her either 'cause I'll hear about that too."

"Understood."

"All right then," Win dismissed.

Before they left the room, on impulse he said one more thing: "Never thought I'd say this, but I'm counting on you."

Matt looked back at him, then made a tiny, smug smile. "As you ought to," he replied casually.

_God, what a dork._


	8. Try/Catch/Finally

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi everyone i'm still!!!! here!!!!!!!!

Win's now-regular waking activity of lying in bed and remembering where the fuck he was and how the hell he got here was today interrupted by his ringing phone (and it was a _phone_ , dammit, no matter how many features the Zin crammed into it or what kind of fancy bullshit Kinzie insisted was the proper name).

He grabbed his phone; the screen informed him of the time and that Kinzie, as it happened, was calling him. Years ago he might have been surprised that she was up so early, but by now he knew that she lived a life altogether unbound by time.

Still not bothering to get out of bed or sit up, he took the call. "Morning, Kinzie."

"You're going into the simulation soon, right?" Jumping right into it. Again, no surprise.

"I mean, what else am I doing?"

"Take Miller with you."

"What? Yo, we rescued him so he could help you."

"I wasn't finished preparing for his arrival."

"Preparing what, a party?"

"There are files I need to back up, systems to protect, private information—"

"Man, you really think that's all necessary?"

"It's Matt. Are you sure it's not?"

Win was not totally convinced that he needed to do this, and also he didn't want to. He did like to do Saints business in at least pairs, but with his homies and not with some fuckin' nerd. "How long?"

"How long what?"

"How long do you, um, how long a distraction do you need?"

"Couple hours."

A couple hours of dragging Miller around, for Kinzie worrying maybe just a little less. _I've had to take worse deals,_ mused Win. "Fine. Where is he?"

"In the hangar." And she hung up, her business concluded.

* * *

Okay, so maybe Win felt kind of bad about his reluctance to work with Matt. Or at least, he considered that he _should_ feel bad. After all, Matt was one of his crew members now, and they were all working together to save humanity, so shouldn't they learn to get along? It was bad enough that Kinzie didn't exactly get it.

He made his way to one of the lower set of doors as soon as he could, and knocked. Nothing happened right away, and he was about to knock again when the doors slid open. From inside, Matt was staring at Win, wide-eyed, holding out his phone like a remote.

"Howdy, Matt," Win called out as he strolled into the hangar.

The sound of his voice seemed to jog Matt's memory of how to interact with a person. Matt relaxed somewhat and put away his phone. "Hello," he said, still a little uncertain.

Between the rescue and this morning, Matt must have figured out how to operate other thing-producing machines on the ship: black eyeliner and a touch of cyan lip gloss adorned his face now. Among other stuff too probably. Nothing unusual for Matt, but for a hot second Win found it striking.

"Hey, you're not busy, right?" asked Win, snapping out of it.

"Well, I've not been assigned any—"

"Great, go into Fake Steelport with me." He moved towards the stairs and paused; Matt was again staring blankly. "Come on."

Matt trailed after him to the simulation room. "Why do you want me in the simulation?"

"'Cause there's shit that needs getting done, why else. Kinzie filled you in on why that thing's important, right?"

"Yes, but I don't think—"

"What's the matter, Matt? You don't know how to fight? Never shoot a gun?"

"Of course I can fight. You've seen me," Matt griped, which he wasn't wrong to.

"Yeah, that's true. Sorry, I had other things on my mind then." That was all Win thought he had to say, but then he realized his poor word choices left room for _direly wrong_ interpretations. Win hastily continued, "Like piloting a robot. Uh, so how'd you pick up combat training anyway?"

Matt seemed not to suspect anything. "Asha insisted; in fact, she trained me herself."

Win turned around and looked Matt over. He really survived _that?_ Maybe there was more to him than Win thought. "Great, so you're more than ready to do this."

"I'd much rather focus on my work right now. Isn't that what you rescued me for?"

"I rescued you to help us. Taking over the sim with me is helping."

"But anyone can do that. Like your vice president; you've got better rapport with him too."

"Well, that's the thing. You're the newest member of the crew; let's get to know each other." Win patted the side of an open simulation machine.

Matt regarded it unhappily, then sighed and moved to get inside, thank god. Hopefully wrangling him in there was gonna be the worst of it.

* * *

His outfit was hideous.

Win had seen it in full only twice before, once in the Decker use-net and once in Matt's retro-styled virtual prison. In those contexts it really hadn't looked so out of place, but here in the middle of (ostensibly) regular-ass Steelport, his huge-collared, neon-lined leather jacket, fastened by no less than three belts and embellished with glowing accessories, could not have looked any stupider.

And the worst of it all was Matt looking so goddamn _pleased_ with himself. "Now this is more like it!"

"You still wear that?" Win asked coolly, masking his distaste.

"Still? Of course not. I outgrew this jacket, and I haven't worn anything like this in years."

"So how'd it end up in here?"

"Deckers for life. You understand."

"Um, no. I don't. What does that have to do with anything?"

"Take a look."

Matt turned around, proving that actually Win _hadn't_ seen the full outfit before, because there was no way he could ever forget this shit: on the jacket's back was a shamelessly large Decker logo, also glowing an electric blue, because why the fuck wouldn't it be.

Was this real? Could a human being really wear something that tacky? ... And had Matt been counting himself a Decker all this time?

Facing Win, Matt adjusted his shitty tie (which was so shitty that calling it a tie at all was actually being very nice) and smirked. "Pretty cool, right? If only the Saints had half my style."

 _Miller, you shitbag,_ Win said to himself, honestly more amused than offended. "Let's not say things we can't take back. Do you have a gun?"

"Oh. No... The one thing lacking." His smirk disappeared as he examined himself, then returned when he looked back at Win and extraneously remarked, "Flawless otherwise."

"Okay. We'll take care of that first."

* * *

The newly-claimed flashpoint cast its blue light down onto Win, Matt, and the bodies of the Zin who had guarded it. Win's fireball ambush was a strong opening move, but Matt assisting with the clean-up really sealed the deal.

"All right. Not bad, Matt," said Win. Matt nodded in acknowledgment, and they began walking back to the car Win had parked some distance away. "Man, can you believe it? You and me, back in Steelport, doing gang shit? Or close enough."

"After our last meeting, I didn't expect this to be the place where I saw you again."

"Oh, when _did_ we meet last?"

"You don't remember?"

"I've had a lot on my mind these days, even before this alien shit. Help me out here."

"It was a function at Windsor Castle."

Their car was close once they had rounded the corner. (Win was a bit surprised to see it as he'd left it: half on the sidewalk, perpendicular to the other vehicles on the street. _This is a virtual world where nothing matters, so fuck parallel parking,_ he had thought. And apparently, the simulated people of Steelport gave as many shits as he did.) "Okay, that sounds familiar. What happened?"

"You, um, you asked what I was doing there, and... you joked that I was a secret member of the royal family—"

Suddenly it was coming back to Win. "Oh yeah! And I called you the Duke of Dork! And someone behind me choked on their drink," Win recalled, as they approached the car.

"Yes. That was my colleague." Matt shot Win a glance before opening the door and sitting down. "And he had found a new nickname for me."

Win chuckled at the image before he also got inside. "Nice. That kicks ass."

"I disagree," Matt replied mildly.

The next task was just a few blocks away; it would be a short ride. It was maybe a minute in when Matt spoke again: "Did you come over and talk to me for the sole purpose of making that joke?"

"Well, I mean..." His freshly-unearthed memories didn't do Win much good here. Having been the occasion's youngest and most— _Most... what? Uh... Visually distinct?_ —Briton, Matt caught Win's attention just by being there, and then they just kind of ended up talking? How was Win gonna explain that without it sounding weird? "Yeah, like, I had to amuse myself somehow."

"Ah."

"Why? Are you upset?"

"No, just curious. You knew back then I was spying on you, right? And _I_ knew that you knew. So what I didn't know was why you bothered asking me why I was there."

 _And thank goodness you've already supplied your own answer._ "Well, there you go."

* * *

_He doesn't_ have _to look that stupid._

That was what really got to Win, because he knew that for a _fact_. Matt had dressed up very sensibly at Windsor Castle. Why couldn't he just have a nice suit on right now? _Even being naked would be better._

 _... Maybe that's going too far,_ Win told himself, through conscious effort.

Now that Matt was clothed and dry, Win didn't need to juggle respecting his privacy and covering him in battle. But, wasn't it a little dumb that Win felt like he needed to juggle anything? Why was a naked dude suddenly a big freaking deal to him? Matt himself didn't even give a shit—

_Okay okay, fine, I'll admit it. I was uncomfortable because I think he's... kind of hot._

He was hot at the castle; he was hot during the rescue; and even now, at least from the neck up, he was...

 _God damn it. Matt Miller—_ Matt Miller _, of all people..._

"That must be all of them," Matt called out as he lowered his gun and turned to Win. They happened to lock eyes.

It was years ago that Win had stamped out in himself the impulse to turn away when someone he shouldn't necessarily have been looking at, suddenly faced him—but in that moment, it almost resurfaced. But only almost.

"Yeah," Win forced out, before the staring got _too_ awkward. "Yes. Good work. Uh, let's take a break, before we keep moving."

"Break? Are we leaving the simulation?"

"No, no, just... take a few minutes to, like, chill. Clear your head and shit."

Matt considered this in silence, and suddenly said, "You were looking at my jacket rather intently for someone who thinks so little of it."

"What?" said Win, automatically. When he put together what the hell Matt was talking about, he replied, with the appropriate level of casual annoyance, "Jesus, I was just checking you weren't dying or some shit."

"Ah. Fair. After all, where _would_ you be without me?" His blue-tinted lips twitched into a small but distinctly shit-eating grin.

 _Yeah, he's kinda hot—until he says or does_ literally _anything._

* * *

"Oh! I didn't know Steelport had an English pub."

Not looking up from the city map on his phone (a traditional human smartphone in the simulation), Win replied to Matt, "Yeah, it's got several actually. You really never seen 'em?"

"Of course not, I was far too busy for frivolous outings."

"Oh yeah, you were sixteen years old too."

"You really think _I_ couldn't have forged an ID if I had so desired?"

"You were _really_ sixteen; a mere fake ID couldn't help you."

"But as one-third of Syndicate leadership, I could've opened any doors I liked."

Win put away his phone and looked around. "So where's this pub? Where's the doors you could've opened but didn't?"

Matt pointed behind Win. "It's over there, actually."

Win didn't see it right away: he was never great at following a pointing finger. He was about to ask for more information when by divine providence he noticed a Union Jack in a grimy window—that place had to be it. Except, there was something about it...

"Oh! Their flag's upside-down. That's good, right?"

"What? ... Oh, so it is. I'm surprised you noticed."

"Haha, believe it or not, it was your PM who taught me, you know, the difference."

"Ah, I see."

"Yeah. Otherwise I wouldn't know Union Jackshit."

Given how well the older, wiser Matt had been tolerating Win's ribbing so far, Win really wasn't expecting such a powerful grimace to appear on Matt's typically-smug face—and it was such a stupid pun too! Win couldn't hold back a snicker, until Matt groaned, "Oh, _god_ , that was terrible," and then he couldn't stop himself from laughing. What the fuck, why had he been just _putting up_ with Matt this whole time? This was way more fun.

"You're welcome; glad you liked it," Win said, with a genuine smile.

As Matt looked back at Win, his expression seemed to soften. Was he... he wasn't surprised, was he? After all his time in MI6 monitoring foreign officials and shit, surely he didn't buy into Win's ill-deserved reputation for being a mirthless, stone-faced grump? (Win just didn't smile for photos, that was all.)

But Matt quickly frowned again, and he crossed his arms and huffed, "Are we quite finished here?"

 _What, he didn't actually wanna go inside? Hmm._ "Oh, yeah sure. Let's get going." _Or maybe my bad joke distracted him that much, heh._

* * *

Besides the radio, it was silent in the car as Win sped down the highway to their next destination. He spared a glance at Matt: staring out the window, not seeming terribly interested in starting any conversation.

Neither was Win, who regarded small talk with strangers as kind of a chore, but each time they sat in a car for longer than five minutes and said little to each other the whole drive, it just felt more and more awkward.

Getting to know each other—that was his excuse to get Matt on this little expedition, wasn't it? It wasn't a fake one, not entirely. Win would never admit it out loud, but he considered Matt an interesting person, which was to say, he did interesting things and had interesting things happen to him. And Win had questions about Matt, questions he had long ago discarded into the depths of his mind but now found bubbling back up to the surface.

But he would start small, and build up to that point. After all, he didn't want to make this sound like an interrogation, as it must have when he tried questioning Matt at that party years back.

"Hey, Matt."

"Hm?" In Win's peripheral vision he saw Matt turn his head.

"Where're you from, anyway?"

Matt shifted in his seat. "England?"

"Yeah but like, which county?"

"Oh, um, London."

 _MI6 really never get around to teaching you how to lie?_ was Win's immediate thought—but why lie about something like that to someone like Win? Hell, maybe Matt was just telling the truth really awkwardly.

Well, in any case... "London, eh? Never heard of it."

Matt's exaggerated sigh of annoyance was sufficiently amusing by itself, and then he followed up with, "Well, it is rather _Underground_."

Win laughed, "Hey, not bad." He hadn't expected Matt to play along like that.

"Thanks, I think." From the sound of it, he wasn't entirely unamused. "Um, what about you?"

"Me? Where am _I_ from?"

"Yeah."

"Stilwater. You didn't know?"

(Now _that_ was a lie for sure but nobody but Win knew that and that was how it was and if he had his way how it always would be.)

"Oh, that's right. Sorry."

"It's no problem."

Kinzie's voice cut in, giving both of them quite the startle. "All done, Boss. You can come back now."

"Oh! Oh, shit," Win just kind of said, as he recovered. "Okay, cool. See you soon, or something."

"What's going on?" Matt asked.

"Uh, we're done for today." On his phone, Win set a route to the nearest gateway out.

"What? Done?"

"Yeah—Oh fuck, that's the exit. Brace yourself."

* * *

Win left the simulation first. On the ship he waited for Matt, who blinked awake as his machine opened up. _Kinda cute,_ some bastard in Win's brain remarked, so quietly that it got drowned out whenever Matt spoke.

"Careful, these things are higher off the ground than they look," Win said; Matt glanced down and stepped out gingerly. "Sorry shit got a little rough at the end."

"No harm done." He sounded like he meant it, probably, which was good enough. But before Win could say anything else, Matt quickly followed up with, "What was the actual reason you took me into the simulation?"

 _Actual reason, huh? Hmm. Sure, I'll tell him._ "Kinzie had stuff to do and she wanted you distracted while she did it."

"Oh. What? That's it? She could've just talked to me."

"Well, if it comes up again I'll tell her that. But hey, hanging out with me wasn't that bad, was it?"

"Why, is this gonna happen again?"

"I haven't planned on it. But you never know; something could come up later."

"Well, it wasn't... horrible," Matt said, shrugging a little.

"Right? And you did a pretty good job."

"But if that's all for now..."

"Yeah. Go do your work or whatever." On his way out, Win gave Matt a friendly slap on the arm; Matt seemed surprised but didn't recoil from the touch. "Take it easy."


End file.
